“Especially after a big playoff victory!” she chirped. Other than Cheffeta’s, a truly gourmet restaurant, Oakley’s was about as elegant as any eatery in Green Bay.
Casey bit into his chicken wrap. “Aw, man.”
“Onions?” Nell said.
“Exactly. I told the waitress I’m allergic to them.” Casey showed Nell the purple onion rings hanging out the end of the wrap.
The waitress, a college student dressed in a Hail cheerleader uniform, apologized. “I’ll get you a new one.”
“Thanks, that’s very kind of you,” Casey said, and meant it.
She took the wrap back to the kitchen.
“That’ll leave a bad taste in your mouth,” Nell said.
Casey nodded. “Like Elena being pregnant.”
“That’s about right.”
“You know more than you’ve told me. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know the father’s identity, if that’s what you mean.”
Casey smirked. “Narziss thinks it’s his.”
“Of course he does,” Nell said. “I’m surprised he admitted it.”
“Actually, he didn’t say anything.”
“He knows full well it’s his,” Nell said. She paused. “What kind of woman marries him?”
“The kind who relishes three-story foyers and indoor waterfalls. I think it’s Narziss’s baby and he wanted to get rid of it. He wants to be governor after he hangs up his cleats, so he can’t have a bastard child.”
Nell leaned back from the table and cocked her head. “Interesting. You’re still hot for Elena, aren’t you?”
Casey copied her by leaning back. He knew the instant he’d done it that Nell would interpret his body language as guilt. “Why are you so interested?”
Nell shrugged, gave him a coy grin, and used her fork to play with her pasta. “Not a lot to do in Green Bay.”
Casey smiled. “Elena’s a friend, and I want to find her to make sure she’s okay. Plus, I’d like to know more about what happened to her so that the next time our friends Meyer and Gioli come calling, I’ll be ready.” He watched their waitress serve people at a table across the room. An elderly woman picked up a chicken wrap and took a bite. “Nell, check that out.”
Nell’s eyes turned into saucers. “Oh my God.” Nell covered her mouth with her hand. They could see Casey’s teeth marks in the other end of the lady’s chicken wrap.
He walked over to the poor patron and warned her about it. He snickered on his way back to their table. He and Nell broke into laughs, not because the Chicken Wrap Incident was that hilarious, but because they had been so emotionally worn down that, at this point, all they could do was laugh. About Elena. About narcolepsy. About getting falsely accused. About incompetent wait staff. They laughed so hard their stomachs hurt. For a second, Casey feared wetting his pants. After it subsided, they sighed in relief, and eventually resumed eating and talking about anything but Elena’s disappearance—if only for a few moments.
Nell regaled Casey with the tale of a recent client she had met with on a farm—the customer wore coveralls for cow milking and boots for manure pitching, but also bought Baciare makeup. “I tell customers that if they sign up to sell our products, they could really supplement their farming income. Rural folks deal with cold, dry air— not to mention wicked wind burn. It screams ‘daily skin care.’ Baciare moisturizers contain botanical extracts and nourishing antioxidants for fast absorption. And what farm woman doesn’t deserve to draw a warm bath at the end of a long day milking udders and tossing feed? I should know; I grew up on a farm. Our quintessential spa cleansers contain eucalyptus, kiwi seeds and bamboo powder to tame the toughest skin.”
Casey opened a photo on his phone. “But does it get manure out from under nails?”
“Yes! We have a nail treatment that—are you making fun of me?”
“No.” Casey glanced down at the photo of Narziss’s social security number. Then he opened the photo he’d taken of Narziss’s cell records. He dialed the phone company, and followed the automated prompts to access Narziss’s account. He eventually found the records for incoming phone numbers. Narziss had received multiple calls from the same phone number the night Elena had disappeared.
Casey typed the relevant phone number into Google. No results—unlisted. He searched for a private-eye website that offered background checks on people for a fee. Using that site, it only cost fifty bucks to get the name and address attached to the person who had repeatedly called Narziss: LeRoy DeWillis, alias “Skeeto,” 1400 Pennsylvania Avenue, Green Bay—the Hail players’ White House. Casey felt ill.
“What?” Nell said.
He swallowed. “Let’s go.” They ran out of the restaurant to her BMW, careful not to slip on the snow and ice. They got in, Casey filled her in, and they drove off. He didn’t want to think about how his best friend since kindergarten could be in cahoots with Todd Narziss, or that he could have anything to do with Elena’s disappearance. So he changed the subject. “Still has that new-car smell.”
“I know, right? And the black leather seats. How ’bout it?”
Casey ran his hands over the cushy leather, soft as a baby’s bottom. “Perfection. Bummer that studies show the new-car smell is actually toxic fumes off-gassing.”
Nell pretended to waft the smell into her nose. “I better enjoy it while I can.” She giggled and cracked the windows.
Casey didn’t know much about Nell, but he couldn’t help liking her.
A few minutes later, Nell turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue and parked along the curb in front of the White House. As they approached the door, they noticed that the handle lay on the ground a foot away. Nell pulled a tissue from her pocket and used it to grab the hole in the door left by the broken handle. They crept into the house and peeked in the living room where they had partied the previous Thursday, before Elena had disappeared. Casey recalled standing in that very same spot during the party, with Elena next to him.
Now he motioned to Nell, as if to suggest they leave before being discovered.
Nell whispered, “What if Elena’s in here?” She stepped toward the couch.
Casey exhaled and followed her.
A man in a skeleton mask stood up behind the couch and swung a cinder block. Casey managed to defend himself with his forearm, avoiding a direct hit to the cranium, but the blow knocked him to the ground next to the couch, where Skeeto lay, eyes frozen up in their sockets.
Before Casey could react, he suffered a sleep attack. Skeeto? Was he dead? Casey’s mind felt as numb as his limbs. No, no, no. Even from the floor, Casey saw Nell throw a roundhouse kick into the masked man’s chin, toppling him. He dropped a syringe to the floor. Was this another narcoleptic hallucination?
The masked man hustled to retrieve the needle, tossed a dining chair at Nell, and fled out the front door.
Nell dodged the chair, followed the man to the door, then came back for Casey. She shook his shoulders and asked, “Your arm okay?”
He snapped out of it. “It’s still attached. Go after him.”
Nell frowned. “He’s gone.” She helped him to his feet and called 911, reported the intrusion, and requested an ambulance for a probable DOA.
Casey looked down at Skeeto, crouched near his friend, and wept.
“Don’t touch him!” Nell cried, but it was too late.
Casey checked for a pulse, but felt nothing. He held his friend in his arms. “No, no, no, no. My best friend. My best friend!” He flashed back to playing football in the back yard with Skeeto, jamming as The Filing Cabinets, covering the Hail, high-fiving, hugging. He sobbed.
Gas and fluids gurgled in Skeeto’s body.
Nell placed her hand on his shoulder. “He’s gone, Case. He’s gone. I’m so sorry.” She gave him some space and stepped outside for a few moments. When she returned, Casey had settled a bit.
He wiped tears and sniffled. “Why didn’t you chase him?”
“And do what if I caught him? Give him a
facial?”
Maybe her combat moves were a hallucination. One thing certainly wasn’t: what had happened to Skeeto. Casey hoped he would wake out of a sleep attack—but deep down knew this wasn’t narcolepsy. This was really happening. Breathe. Your most important breath is your next one.
“Besides,” Nell said, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Casey, standing near the corpse, turned away, covered his nose and mouth with his hand. He felt nauseous.
Resigned, Nell put her hands on his shoulders. “Skeletor poisoned your friend.”
Casey looked from Nell to Skeeto, stunned, tears streaming down his cheeks. He put his hands to his head. “Was I hallucinating, or did you go all Bruce Lee on that guy?”
Nell shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I saw you pull a roundhouse. At least, I think I did…”
“Don’t you have hallucinations?”
“Yeah, during sleep attacks.”
She folded her arms. “Well, there you go.”
Elena was missing. Skeeto was dead. Casey was flabbergasted. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Skeeto lived here.” Nell paced. “So the killer knew where to find him. As the director of public relations for the Hail, Skeeto had access to the team’s secrets. Maybe he knew something about Elena’s disappearance, and someone decided that his knowledge was too volatile.”
Casey sniffled, took a deep breath, and tried to compose himself. Not a bad deduction for a cosmetics saleswoman. “Okay, let’s roll with that. Who in the Hail organization would have reason to get rid of Elena?”
They stared at each other a moment then said in unison: “Todd Narziss.”
“He had a bastard child to cover up,” Nell said.
“We have records of the phone calls between Narziss and Skeeto.”
“Those are circumstantial. And fruit from a poisoned tree. No pun intended.”
Casey had no concern at the moment for court procedures. Would Narziss actually kill Skeeto during a playoff run? It would create a media circus. Something didn’t fit.
Two uniformed officers and two paramedics entered the living room. “Police,” one of the cops said. “I’m Officer Bickersly. What happened?”
Casey said, “We came here to see my friend, Skeeto, and found an intruder in a mask.”
“Field Agent Nell Jenner.” She showed her badge to the cops.
“What?” Casey had another sleep attack.
Nell reached over and shook Casey’s shoulder. She smiled at the cops. “Everyone has their quirks.” She turned serious and cleared her throat. “We heard trouble, found the door open, entered to see if Mr. DeWillis was all right, and found him in here. Deceased. The intruder had a syringe.”
“How do we know you didn’t drug him?” Bickersly said to Casey.
“Because a guy in a mask tried to knock off my head.” He held up his scraped and bruised forearm as evidence. “The cinder block is over there. I managed to block it.”
“I see that,” Bickersly said then glanced at Nell. “That all true?”
She nodded. “Sure as I’m standing before you.”
“Besides, Skeeto was my best friend.” More tears welled. “I loved him, man.” He wiped his eyes and tried to wrap his thoughts around the fact his boyhood friend was gone. Forever. He placed his hands on each side of his head, as if it were necessary to keep all his thoughts from leaking out.
“Where is this man now?” Bickersly said.
“He fled,” Nell said.
Bickersly raised his brows at Nell. “Description?”
“Skeleton mask, black leather coat,” Casey said. “Jeans. That’s about it. He was sort of a blur.”
Bickersly squinted at Casey. “Skeleton mask?”
“Yep,” Nell and Casey said in unison.
“Might be hard to pick him out in a crowd,” Nell said, trying to lighten the mood.
Casey kept hearing the music of The Filing Cabinets in his head. He bent at the waist, mouth open, crying silently.
Bickersly asked Nell a few follow-up questions as she comforted Casey. After she answered, Bickersly dismissed them. The cop moved closer to the couch to examine the crime scene.
Casey and Nell went outside to get fresh air. She held him, didn’t say a word for five minutes. Then she said, “I’m here, and I’m sorry.”
Casey wiped tears, blew his nose, and thanked her. After a few more minutes, his mind jumped back to Skeeto’s killer, and how Nell had fended him off. “You’re a federal agent?”
Nell winced. “Um, maybe a little.”
She had lied to him. “I don’t know how to feel right now,” Casey said. “I’m already numb from Skeeto. And Elena sleeping with Narziss. Now this.”
“I’m sorry, sleepyhead. I’m undercover. So I only reveal my identity when necessary. It’s for your own—”
“Then why reveal it to the cops?”
“I needed them to trust us, not suspect us.”
“But we’re innocent.”
“Of course we are. Even if they came to that same conclusion, it would have taken time to sort out—time Elena doesn’t have.”
Casey sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Skeeto was my best friend since kindergarten. We grew apart in recent years, but we still had that history. Now I find out he may have hurt Elena at Narziss’s request…” He clenched his fists.
Nell grabbed his upper arms. “Whoa—look at me. We don’t know what he did or didn’t do. All we know is he’s gone.” Nell held and comforted him. He felt bad for getting her shoulder wet.
Casey’s cell phone rang: unlisted number. He awkwardly broke off the embrace and pointed at the phone. “May I?” He didn’t feel like talking—at all—but he couldn’t risk missing a call from Elena.
“Please,” Nell said.
He walked away, sniffed, wiped tears, and answered. “Casey here.”
“I don’t know what you were trying to pull at the White House.” It was a man’s voice and, while it sounded familiar, Casey couldn’t place it. “But you’ll get your comeuppance,” the voice said. “Right now, I’m on my way to your mother’s house.”
“Who is this?”
“You don’t remember me?” the voice said, perturbed. “I remember you.”
“My mother’s not home this weekend.” That was true. She had been shopping in Chicago with her neighbor, Evelyn Van Klooster. Of course, Mother had conveniently forgotten about that trip while deriding Casey for not spending enough time with her.
“You don’t say,” the voice continued. Now he suddenly sounded smooth and calm. “Never fear, Casey. I’ll pay my respects.”
“You’ll what?” His mind raced like Usain Bolt with his shorts on fire. How did the caller know his name? How did he get his cell number? How did he know about the incident at the White House? Casey looked around the yard, the neighbors’ yards—no sign of onlookers. “Come on. Who is this?”
The voice on the other line snapped: “Your family is next if you don’t knock it off!”
“Knock what off?”
“Your little investigation. Let it go, or I’ll take it out on your mother.” The caller hung up.
Casey swallowed and signaled to Nell. “Come on.”
Nell followed. “Who was it?”
He ran toward the Z4 and she followed him into the car. “I think it was the guy in the skeleton mask,” Casey said. “He threatened my mother. He’s going to her house!”
15
SATURDAY, JANUARY 22
Nell drove toward Elzbieta Thread’s house. Casey was practically hyperventilating. He expected to freeze at any moment.
“Calm down,” Nell said. “How do you know it was him?”
“He referenced our little impromptu meeting.”
“How would he get your phone number?”
“Hell if I know.”
“He must know you. Is your mom home?”
“No. But she’s going to return any minute.”
“Call her.”
Casey groaned and held up his hands in frustration. “She doesn’t have a cell phone. I’ve tried and tried and tried to convince her to get one, but she refuses.” He pounded the dash board.
“How far is her house?”
“About twelve minutes away, if we hit all the lights.”
Nell called 911, and the operator dispatched a squad car to Elzbieta Thread’s residence.
On the way, Casey could have sworn he saw a school of fish floating in front of the car, right in the middle of the street, as if they were under water. A squid swam over the windshield, then a sea cow.
By now Nell knew narcolepsy when she saw it. She reached over and shook his arm. “Casey, wake up. Cas-ey!”
He came to, shook his head. No more sea cow. As they neared his mother’s house, he felt anxious, like he had guzzled a pot of coffee. Breathe. Your most important breath is your next one. He stared out the window, watching street lights pass by, trying to will them to move faster. Casey really wasn’t close with his mother. At all. But she was still his ma.
Nell turned a corner a bit too fast, tires searching for pavement amidst snowy patches. “Who do you think the man in the skeleton mask was? Narziss?”
“No, Narziss is much bigger—like he’s on steroids or HGH. Skeleton Guy was slight in comparison.”
“That narrows it down.”
Casey didn’t have a response.
Nell pulled to the curb in front of the house, near a squad car. They got out and ran toward his mother’s house. The front door was open, cold air rushing in. When Casey gently pushed the door wider, it clanged against something hard. Nell and Casey froze when they realized that picture frames, books, and other household items were scattered on the floor.
Casey heard his mother crying in the kitchen. “Ma?” He sprinted to her, dodging objects. “You okay?”
She held her face in her hands, leaning against the stainless steel dishwasher. “It’s terrible, terrible.” Mother sobbed.
He rubbed her back. “We’ll clean up everything, Ma. Not much is broken.”
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